SHATTEREDlife
by Esterk
Summary: A story about the events after the game, so plenty of spoilers involved. Emir decides he wants to live a new life, free from the ghosts of his past. But can he ever truly be free?
1. SHATTEREDorigins

**CHAPTER/one: SHATTERED/origins**

Retribution Definite in the year 2014. The UN Allied Forces launched a full scale attack on the United States. The United States is defeated and the UN Allied Forces take control of a vast majority of the world in the U.S.' dark times.

The year is now 2015.

As the sun beats down on the surrounding wasteland, a lone red car streaks down the decrepit remains of a road, kicking up dust clouds in the wake of its speed. To the naked eye, the only semblance of a driver would be the blur of the pitch-black suit he is wearing. The driver's name is Emir Parkreiner, and his eyes are wide open. He doesn't know where he is going or why – he doesn't need a reason anymore.

Suddenly, he spots a lone bar on the roadside and slams on the brakes, screeching to a stop that one could only describe as 'stylish'. The bar is run down and beaten up, but the neon sign in the front window is still flashing a red and blue 'OPEN' to strangers passing through. Emir approaches the bar and enters the muddy atmosphere. It's a typical bar setting – neon signs of beer companies hung everywhere, a set of pool tables near the back, a TV set up above the wooden bar that is turned off. The smell of cigarettes and alcohol is thick in the stale air.

The bartender has his back turned and doesn't bother greeting Emir as he approaches a bar stool. There is only one other person in the bar, a man Emir knows well. The man is named Christopher Mills, and he turns in his seat to face Emir as the African American sits in an adjacent stool.

"So you were loyal to Japan after all. Heh, I was hoping you'd change your ways." The man spoke, scratching his head through his thick, curly, brown hair. He smiled at Emir.

"Hope is for the uncertain. And uncertainty is for the weak." Emir replied in his natural deep voice, turning in his seat to meet Chistopher's eyes.

"Well, Garcian - er, sorry - Emir, I mean, it doesn't really matter to me now." Christopher sighed calmly. "I'm finally free now. I was caught in a cycle that would never end, you know. The U.S. Government gave the jobs, which I passed off to you. Once you completed the job, the Government always had another one waiting for me to give ya." Christopher turned to Emir and frowned. "But the cycle's been broken, and all their efforts were in complete vain. Too bad for them, eh?" The man grinned.

"Yeah, sure. Look, you're starting to bore me. I'll chat with you later." Emir replied as he reached into his suit.

"Alright, see ya later." Christopher nodded, still grinning. He pointed at Emir. "Just watch out for the past, it might just be your worst enemy." Christopher advised as he saluted.

"Hmph." Emir grunted, pulling a golden revolver out of his suit. He aimed at Christopher's head, swiftly pulling the trigger. The man burst into thousands of white fragments that dispersed, then absorbed back into Emir. Emir placed the revolver back into his suit and sighed. A cup of coffee slid down the bar to him.

"It's on the house, don't worry about it." A voice coolly said. Emir looked up and noticed it was the bartender that had spoken, though his back was still turned. A chill ran down Emir's spine, but he shook it off.

"Uhh…thanks." Emir muttered uncertainly. He lifted the cup to his mouth and took a sip. "Pretty good."

"Yeah, house blend. So, Garcian, how's it going?" The bartender asked, no hint of emotion in his voice.

Emir paused for a split second and then dropped the cup. It shattered on the floor as he reached into his right pocket and whipped out his silenced handgun, another weapon he carried at the ready. He aimed it straight at the bartender's back. "Who the hell are you?" Emir yelled as he nestled his left hand on the gun as well, to make sure he had a steady grip.

"Easy, easy. Just calm down." The bartender assured. He turned around, revealing his messy black hair with long sideburns. He had a slight grin on his face, and Emir recognized him immediately, though he couldn't believe it.

"Dan Smith? You're dead, dammit, DEAD!" Emir yelled out. "What the fuck is going on?"

"Calm down - do I look dead to you? I guess I'm not dead then, right dumbass?" Dan rhetorically asked. He remained calm, the grin still stuck on his face.

"Well then, I'll just kill you now!" Emir started to squeeze the trigger, but then stopped. He felt the cold barrel of a gun press tightly against the back of his neck. What stopped Emir wasn't the fact that there was a gun pressed to his neck though – it was the person behind the gun. He felt the edge of the revolver and knew that it was highly modified, totally customized and therefore unique to one man. One Hispanic man.

"Put the gun down now, amigo." A deep voice ordered behind him.

"No way. There's no way." Emir said, his voice wavering.

"HEY! Put the goddamn gun down. Now, dammit!" The voice commanded, a voice Emir knew all too well. At that instant, he knew the man behind him was Coyote Smith.

"My God…" Emir muttered, lowering his gun. "I'm not gonna drop it, but I'll lower it. Now explain what the fuck is going on."

"I think I might be able to do that for you, Garcian. Or I guess you would prefer Emir, seeing as that's your new persona." Another familiar voice spoke in a raspy tone. Harman Smith, the wheelchair-bound old man wheeled out from a shadowed corner of the bar. He was dressed in black and had his signature rimmed hat on, black as well. The familiar oversized sniper rifle was strapped to the back of his wheelchair. He smiled as he met Emir's gaze.

"What the fuck! No, no no no! I killed all of you!" Emir cried out, shocked. He raised the gun again and pointed it from Dan to Harman, then to Coyote. "WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?"

"Emir, lower the gun and all will be explained." Harman declared in his calm voice. It was a command Emir obeyed. Anything to get the truth.


	2. SHATTEREDrevival

**CHAPTER/two: SHATTERED/revival**

They stand around him, ghosts of his life. A life he left behind, a life he gave up, a life he never wanted to remember again. Emir Parkreiner gazed over all of them, still in disbelief. He sat in a bar stool, his golden revolver and silenced handgun laying on the bar counter, just barely out of his immediate reach. All seven of the faces he once wore were staring at him.

There was Kaede, the lone female. Brown haired with pale skin, she wears a white dress splattered with her own blood, a reminder of her cowardice after running from Emir. Coyote was leaning against a wall. The badass Hispanic street punk with jet black semi-curly hair with a modified revolver and knack for getting though even the most complex locks. Con was lying on the floor, and even though he was blind, Emir could feel him staring straight at him. His red bandana covered his eyes and he was twirling his automatic pistols, one in each hand. Dan, the 'Hellion', was sitting in a bar stool next to Emir, dressed in his classic blue suit and holding his Demon Gun revolver over his shoulder. Mask de Smith, the muscular masked wrestler, was leaning against a pool table in the back, tinkering with his dual grenade launchers. Emir almost forgot about Kevin, the silent shirtless albino. He was standing behind the bar, messing with the empty cups. His black sunglasses reflected what little light was in the bar, and Emir knew his signature throwing knives were stashed somewhere.

And of course, there was Harman Smith. Sitting in his wheelchair, staring silently at Emir.

"You explain what the fuck is going on." Emir demanded, facing Harman. "I killed all of you once, and then got rid of your fucking ghosts from my body. That should have been it."

"Garcian, you are-" Harman began.

"Fuck you, I'm Emir Parkreiner." The African American man interrupted with a stern voice.

"On the contrary – you are Garcian Smith, just as before. Look at your clothes." Harman calmly said, pointing at Emir's body. Emir glanced down to find the black suit was now white, just as it had been during his time with the Smiths.

"Wait, no. NO! I'm not a fucking Smith. I'm not with you anymore! I'M EMIR-FUCKING-PARKREINER!" Garcian yelled out, standing up.

"Oh shut the hell up, you pussy." Dan exclaimed, pointing his gun at Garcian's head. Garcian turned to face him, starting to sweat.

"Go ahead – fire. Pull the fucking trigger. It won't do a damn thing. You're DEAD!" Garcian yelled, moving his head closer to the barrel. "You're not real, you're ME!"

"I don't who is more annoying, him…or you, Dan." Con said with a smirk.

"Oh shut the hell up, punk." Dan announced to Con, and then grinned at Garcian. "You want me to shoot? Fine." His eyes lit up as he pulled the trigger of the revolver, sending a bullet streaming through the air directly towards Garcian's head. Garcian made a split-second move and dodged the bullet, but the projectile grazed him on the cheek, taking a chunk of skin with it. He fell to the floor. Dan got up and stood over him, returning the gun behind his head. "Still think you're invincible, shithead?" Dan mocked.

'How-? That's impossible!" Garcian cried out as he got back on his feet. He felt his cheek to find that there was indeed blood seeping from the minor wound.

"Garcian, stop being so rash." Harman spoke, wheeling towards him. "We are not part of you anymore. You killed us and in turn, adopted our identities as your own. After your rebirth to Emir, we remained dormant inside you. We haven't merely dissipated. We are free spirits, but are still bound to one entity…you. We cannot go where you do not."

"But…I killed you…all of you. Back at the Hotel. I assumed your identities…" Garcian said, trying to wrap his head around the events.

"Yes, you did. You developed disassociative identity disorder. But you were able to become us because we still lived inside you. We never really died, Garcian. When you made the decision as Emir to try and kill yourself, creating Garcian Smith, all our energies, our personas, were tethered to you in that one moment. We have willingly manifested now, because your new reformation as Emir has purged us from your body finally. We are not physical, per se, but because of the weapons of ours you kept, we can use them." Harman explained.

"So…you're all just like Mills…" Garcian muttered.

"Yes, we are like Christopher in that regard. You carry us with you, but we can physically manifest. You can destroy us, but we will become re-absorbed into your being. You can't truly get rid of us. Not that easily, at least." Harman told Garcian. Con yawned.

"So I'm back to being Garcian, cleaner of the Killer7?" Garcian wondered. He didn't really want to know the answer.

"Sí, amigo." Mask chimed.

"I hate it as much as you, buddy." Dan commented.

"Goddammit, why can't you all just LEAVE ME ALONE?" Garcian cried out.

"Because you killed us, jackass." Coyote said, an annoyed tone in his voice.

"We will always haunt you, Garcian. It is your burden." Harman calmly told him. "And now, we must interfere in the world's events again. You have caused a chain of destruction. One that we have to stop."

"Fuck off. I'm done being a pawn." Garcian shot at Harman. "It doesn't matter if you keep haunting me, or you kill me. I'm done being used. I'm done doing shit for other people."

"Good enough for me, can we shoot him now?" Dan asked, prepping his Demon Gun.

"Garcian…I have the power to make sure you never see any of us again. If you do this, work with the Killer7 once again, I can tell you that we will be gone for good." Harman said.

"How? How the fuck can you do that? You just said you were all tethered to me." Garcian asked in disbelief.

"Garcian, I am your mentor. I trained you to become the killer you are today. I possess more power than any other personality within you. I have the ability to dispel our residence in your soul." Harman offered.

"God damn it." Garcian sighed. He put his head in his hands, then stared straight at Harman. "If you get the fuck out after this shit is over, I'll help you. I won't like it, but I'll help you."

"It's a deal." Harman declared. All of a sudden, the Killer7 members burst into white fragments and rushed into Garcian, being absorbed into his body. Harman stayed behind. "Now Garcian, like most other missions, this one starts with a politician…" He grimly started, smirking a little.


End file.
